


Low Road

by Hambone



Series: The Road to Hell [2]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fisting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Sticky Sex, Water, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission was not going as planned. Not at all.       Sequel to High Road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Low Road

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, the much anticipated (ha!) sequel to High Road! Honestly, I started writing fic to appease my own weird desires, and the fact that a handful of other people out there are enjoying it just makes my century. Cheers to you, my friends. I hope you like this one just as much a the first.

The down times were the worst; long, still periods between races and maintenance when he was left to his own devices. Which, at this point in time, were very limited. The organic would occasionally deign to recharge in the trailer with him, but only after a long night of racing or fiddling with that awful remote it had, and usually he was alone. 

Blurr hated it. 

It was not the first mission he had undertaken that required long cycles of incredible stillness, but it was certainly the first to enforce this stillness in any way other than honest necessity. He had no idea how the little creatures of this world had managed to harness the technology to control Cybertronian life, but they had.

 He had been out patrolling the area enforced by the renegade Autobot crew when he found himself turning and proceeding off in a direction previously uncharted, against his will, and that was that. 

The sensation was odd in its own right, because it didn’t feel as if he were being pushed or forced to move at all, simply that he was watching himself do one thing while thinking another. It was intensely disturbing to experience, and for a moment he thought he had suffered some sort of catastrophic internal failure, that he was hallucinating or falling victim to spark-to-processor disconnect. Then he rolled to a stop at the boots of a human. 

Though Blurr was an Elite Guard Intelligence agent and therefore somewhat experienced with organic life forms (in ways the government would never admit to), he still found it unpleasant to be touched by them. This aversion made the first few weeks in the creatures custody comparable to a stay in the ancient gladiatorial Pits. It couldn’t keep its little servos off him, inspecting and testing him, climbing inside him (an event both new and terrifying). Not to mention it was awful at controlling him, in the beginning at least, and there was only Primus to thank for the fact that it didn’t drive him off a cliff and terminate him permanently. 

All that aside, it could have been worse. Being a bot of protocol, he had already learned the language of the polity and acclimated himself to its various slangs. The organic spoke to him quite often, likely still ignorant of his true nature, and it was always praise. It kept him clean to the capacity it was able without accessing his other form, which was more than he’d have expected. It also kept him fueled, although the feeling of it jamming things in his exterior tank access point was something he was not likely to forget any time soon. 

Its motives for keeping him also seemed tame enough, if not rather banal. After a point, when the thing had at least gained the dexterity to keep Blurr from careening off the track into every wall in sight, it began to race him with other organics. Judging by the numerals on the primitive computer screens inside the trailer where he now resided, the organic was getting some form of monetary gain out of the deal, although Blurr was rather surprised the Earth creatures had developed the concept of credits before contact with their system’s galaxy alliance. 

Things had proceeded that way for a while; him racing and winning and the creature rewarding him for his troubles with bathing and good fuel. Though it didn’t carry the kick of true energon, the planet’s produce could be quite delicious, and he appreciated its efforts. The racing itself was pretty enjoyable too, for what it was, but not really challenging. It wouldn’t have been even if he had been in control of his actions and not simply observing them helplessly. Something inside of him still took pride in his obvious superiority on the road, though, and he allowed himself the sin of gloating privately. It was all he had at this point. 

“That’s right, baby,” cooed the organic as it scrubbed mud from his side skirt, “you’re the hottest thing on wheels.” But the stillness was starting to grate on his mind, and despite his captor’s apparent affection for him the fact still stood that that’s what it was: a captor. Blurr wanst sure if his being botnapped had actually been premedititated or not, given that the human didn’t seem to recognize him for what he was, and therefore couldn’t find it in himself to hate the thing, but he was trapped and frustrated and beginning to feel a reeping panic in his circuitry, exacerbated by his inability to move. He was trapped, not only in a trailer but inside his own frame, and it was driving him mad. He needed stimulation. It was close to nauseating how mch he bagn to crave the things prescence, simply because its muttering and shuffling about gave him something to focus on other than his own perdicament. 

One thing that could be said for this world’s life forms was that they moved fast. Not physically, of course, as even their own inventions outran them easily, but in terms of thought and action they were impatient and needy. Probably their short lifespans and weak frames, he thought, prompting them to cram as much living into what little time they had as fast as possible. Almost sad, if you thought about them that way. 

Whatever it was, it kept the organic interested in him constantly, the next development in their relationship manifesting earlier than he’d have liked. After spending night after night orchestrating small internal reactions within his frame, some uncomfortable and others disconcertingly pleasurable, the thing figured out how to make him transform. Its body heat skyrocketed, and while Blurr had sensed temperature fluctuations often in the creature during their time together, there was nothing ambiguous about the throaty growl with which it next addressed him. 

It wanted to mate with him.  He vaugley understood organic sexuality, of course, having studied the native life extensively before attempting to integrate himself with them for this mission. The very idea should have disgusted him, but it had been so long since he had been courted, and the lingering touches and crude eroticisms of the creature so closely resembled the awkward flirtations of a fellow Cybertronian that he found himself, to his horror, reacting to it. Strongly. 

Then it had discovered his interface hardware and everything had spiraled out of control. Every touch that had before been laden with the implication of intimacy was now ripe with tangible promise. The creature’s praise, whispered gutturally into his side as he was wiped down with a rag, finally crossed the thin border between suggestive to explicit. He should have hated it. 

Instead he found himself waiting, spark swirling, every second away from the organic, his only source of relief from the monotony, the warden to his prison of immobility, near agony. It was as if his next visit would decide Blurr’s fate.  It very nearly did. 

So when the organic returned to the trailer one evening with a supply box he recognized as the wax and buff kit, he nearly jumped out of his framework with excitement. Or would have, ant any rate. The creature set its load down on the ground and crossed its arms. 

“Well, well, someone’s excited.” Blurr’s engine was revving quietly, only partially intentional. The organic laughed and picked up its device. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” 

The creature owned, or at least made use of, several different emptied out buildings across the city. The back of the trailer opened and Blurr was rolled out into one he recognized quite well. It was the only warehouse that had absolutely no windows whatsoever, and therefore the organic’s favorite to transform him in. Blurr didn’t mind much either because this was the only place where the creature would actually let him use his legs, under its control of course, and they so desperately ached for movement. 

As soon as they were safely outside the trailer, he felt the familiar twist of his transformation cog and found his visual feed aligning, rising until he sat up, staring down at the organic. It was smirking at him and a sting of self-righteousness ran through him. Who is this little thing to control me like this, he thought, mouth pressing into a tight grimace. With what self-possession he still had, he angled his head upwards slightly, looking down his nasal ridge at the thing. It laughed again. 

“Always so fickle, aren’t you? But you’re so clearly excited!” It parted its lips and made an odd ‘tsk’ noise. 

“One of these days you’re gonna have to admit to yourself how much you want me.”

I do, thought Blurr, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. The human maneuvered him onto the floor, lying face down with his arms bracing his chin up. A kind move on the creature’s part, since, despite its attraction to him, it didn’t seem to have a real concept of his desire for physical comfort. His eyes followed it as it moved to stand in front of him, removing the outer layer of its usual torso coverings and exposing more of its ashy skin, covered by a thin white cloth top. 

Still defiant, Blurr puffed a hot snort of air. 

“Don’t be like that, baby.” The organic put a bare hand to his face, rubbing the area just under his optic. Blurr’s processor stalled a little bit, and he looked away, embarrassed. The human’s servos kept touching, moving upward to pet his antenna, and it pressed a brief kiss to his temple. Blurr balled his fingers into fists. 

The hose, as always, felt amazing. His joints were so stiff from disuse, struts aching to be stretched, that the cascades of lukewarm water were as good as a hot oil bath. Because organic tissue was so soft, the water pressure was never high enough to compare to Cybertronian showers, light as a mesh sheet on some of his thicker areas. Though his jaw was clamped decidedly shut, he couldn’t stifle the soft groan straining at his vocalizer as it soothed his pains. He hadn’t been particularly dirty in the first place, but the organic had an obsession with keeping him spotless. Not that he minded. Applying a soft scrubber to his back, the human began to work him over. 

Blurr let himself relax, chin pressing heavily into his wrists. After a long, slow rinse, the organic started at the soles of his pedes and began to work up. It was pure bliss, the area so often left unstimulated these days, and he moaned contentedly, not caring, this time, if the human heard it. It had always been clear, though both its words and it actions, that the human really knew what it was doing when it came to maintenance. Its dexterous little servos were able to reach every seam with unprecedented ease, lavishing equal care on every crevice in his armor. 

As the firm caress approached the apex of his legs, though, he began to grow uncomfortable. The massage was no less pleasurable, no; in fact it bordered being too good. Despite their prior trysts, he was embarrassed to feel his own temperature rising at the simply suggestion of intimacy. By the time the human had reached his upper thighs, he was vibrating with pent up energy, ventilations coming noticably faster. He shuttered his optics tight, hoping the organic didn’t pick up on it. 

Of course, it did. 

The scrubbed smacked wetly across his aft and he jolted, almost squeaking. Both the organic’s hands quickly followed, pressing its palms against him and kneading the hard metal roughly. Opening his optics, Blurr tried to speak, shocked and indignant enough to forget this wasn’t within his current range of capabilities, sound escaping only as a strangled yelp. 

The organic was sniggering away again, running a hand through the suds to his inner thigh and back. Blurr grit his dental grill and glared at the floor. 

“Not yet! There’s time for that later.” The washing continued. 

He had reached normal temperatures again by the time the organic got to his shoulders, sniffing haughtily as it groomed his underarms. It ignored his glare, smiling like it always did, like the world around it beckoned to its call. That was unlikely; though it retained complete control over Blurr, he found it very clear that the organic had no such powers over others of its kind or even other vehicles, and if the dirty warehouses and concrete junkyards he raced them through weren’t proof enough that he was on shaky terms with Earth laws, the amount of times Blurr had found himself dramatically increasing speed as sirens sounded behind him solidified the fact. 

It never seemed to bother the creature. Coming to his head, it pretended not to notice Blurr’s intense glare, whistling between his tiny teeth as he worked. The scrubber on the back of his head and neck felt unfairly nice, and to compensate for his slowly waning anger Blurr had to avert his gaze and look moody. The maneuver was only semi successful. 

Soon enough he was being turned over and spread eagle, the organic starting in the same place it had left off beside his head. In an inverse of the last time it moved its way down, cleaning both his arms before moving to the shoulders, neck, and breast. Blurr was always a little nervous when it touched his polyglass chest plates, wondering if it could feel his spark whirling inside. Especially with the way it had taken to pulsing, these days, when the human was with him, touching him. It was fear, he told himself. He wanted to be free and to run again. He wanted to fulfill his mission. 

He wanted the organic’s hands, sliding smoothly around his waist, to move a little lower and scrub a little harder. Almost as if it knew his thoughts, it complied, bending over him to reach around his hips with both arms, digging in to the flexible connections that once allowed his legs frictionless movement. With the barest amount of control, Blurr angled his pelvic span off the concrete, offering himself up. His head fell to the side, ashamed and nervous, hands in tight, shaking fists. 

With an almost unbelievable air of superiority, the organic ignored his actions completely. Well, not completely. While it did not look up at Blurr, or even gloat as it normally did, its hands strayed lower, and lower, and then, for the first time ever, little fingers cupped his panel. 

Then pulled away as if it’d been burned. 

“Ah! Oi! Jesus, that’s hot!” Apparently it _had_ been burned. The human jumped back, clutching the wrist of the offended hand to its chest and nearly tripping over a length of hose. Startled from his shame, Blurr raised his head and gawked. The creature knelt next to the faucet, activating it and running its appendage under the water. 

“Fuck! Fuck!” 

Not having any means to improve the human’s situation, Blurr just stared. The thing was still cursing quietly, and after a few kliks Blurr was finding it hard to keep the slight smugness off his faceplates. After a few moments of it rocking back and forth on its heels and hissing between its teeth, the organic seemed to get its bearings and stood, cradling the wounded hand. Unfortunately it still somehow managed to retain its general attitude, though it looked slightly shaken. Crossing its arms (gingerly), it cocked one hip to the side and gave Blurr a look. 

“Well, I suppose I should have seen that one coming,” 

Blurr smiled at it with hooded optics. Yes, you should have. The creature smiled back. 

“You that hot on the inside too, then?” 

Blurr nodded. The human made the ‘tsk’ noise again and looked back down to his crotch thoughtfully. Truth be told he was a little annoyed himself, partially because he didn’t appreciate his nethers being scrutinized so closely, though it certainly wasn’t the first time, and partially because he was still aroused and wished, despite his general enjoyment of the human’s pain, that it had been able to continue its touching. 

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the human tinkering with the hose again until a jet of cool water hit him right in the groin. Crying out loudly enough to echo through the lofty ceiling, his entire body shuddered heavily, arching noticeably. Apart from the water being relatively cold now, the human was also manipulating the flow with its thumb, increasing the pressure enough to nearly sting when it met his panel seams. Blurr rolled his head back and gasped sharply each time it moved.

Seemingly contented that things were back in their rightful place, the human stepped closer, watching the steam that was beginning to rise up off the heated metal. It was more stimulating than Blurr would like to admit and he shuttered his optics, grimacing with the effort of keeping himself quiet.  The human stepped between his thighs, squeezing the hose and increasing the pressure as it closed the distance between them. It only stopped when it was close enough that Blurr could feel the weak electrical signals all organic life gave off, confused and dull. 

“Now this is enjoyable, eh?” In place of an answer, Blurr threw his head back and panted deeply. The water seeped into his seams, ice cold against the heat he exuded. The human set the hose down on Burr’s stomach, angled just so the water would pour down on his panels without being held. Then it began the gentle process of pulling its gloves back on, covering its injured hand. Nonchalant, as if they weren’t engaged in a slow and delicate game of sensuality. Or using a hose to drive Blurr insane. 

For washing purposes it had always brought gloves made from a non-conductive weave, thin, bright material. It was a good thing too, because Blurr’s charge was amping up to the danger zone with surprising speed. Even as the creature turned to the remote, dialing in the combination that would access his interface paneling, little arcs of electricity skittered just beneath his plating. 

The click of his panel opening was dampened by the running water. Without consistent movement, alt mode excluded, his lubrication output was at an all-time low, and the liquid was almost as soothing as it was arousing. The human approached him, properly protected this time, and reached out a tentative hand. 

“You’re not gonna burn me now…”

Even as it said this, its fingers brushed the outer rim of his valve. It jerked back instinctively, then, feeling no pain, it reached out again with more confidence. Blurr had hardly felt the first touch but the second was firm and decisive. The human squatted at the fork of his legs, pressing one palm to the lip of his valve with humored curiosity. He couldn’t see what it was doing very well, even when he craned his neck to its limit, but he could see its smirking face as it ogled him unabashedly, and he could most definitely feel its actions. 

The size difference between himself and the human was not enormous, though undoubtedly noticeable. However, it wasn’t great enough to create any true incompatibility between them, only to spur some creative thinking about their approach to the act. Recognizing now that the rubbery mesh of Blurr’s delicate areas couldn’t carry heat enough to burn, and safe within his protective gloves, the organic was fearless. It placed both hands on his outer valve, running them down and up a few times before sliding its small thumbs between the lips and eagerly spreading him. 

Blurr wished he could squirm, because his circuits were alive with shame and want and the inability to express it was making a thick, choking panic rise inside his chest. The humans head ducked lower until all he could make out over his chest was the top of its head, that dust colored hair bobbing around as it inspected him. He felt its thumbs wriggling in a little deeper, himself being opened wider, his calipers eagerly flaring in anticipation, and he thought he might go into temporary shock stasis. 

The human whistled a low note between its teeth. 

“Look at you…”

Its voice carried almost a reverence, wonder at his very being. Blurr tossed his head back again when the fingers inside him started rubbing the sensory nodes around the rim. The hose was still on, hanging off his stomach and pouring down his pelvic span. There was already a sizable puddle around them, tinted to shimmer as it mixed with his lubricant. Another couple of fingers were added inside his valve, and one hand slid upwards towards his exterior node curiously. Is index finger and thumb closed around it and squeezed, not enough to hurt but more than enough to make him jump out of his framing. 

“Yeah…” the human grunted, applying more pressure. Its other fingers were busy inching deeper and deeper inside of him. There was no way those tiny things would fill him up the way he was used to, but at this point he’d take what he could get. It pushed until the three had reached their knuckles and could go no further. While he was sure it couldn’t have been comfortable for the human, so hot was he, it didn’t seem to mind. As long as it wasn’t burning, he supposed. 

It pushed in its fourth and final finger, spreading them and meeting little to no resistance. Blurr could feel them, perhaps the width of two regular servos, squirming, and felt teased. It was unfair that he had gotten so close but was held back from real experience, unable to assist the creature in pleasuring him and certainly unable to return the favor. Its hand squeezed at his exterior node and he bucked again, almost enough to keep him from feeling cheated. 

“Jezussss,” it said, finally craning its neck to make optical contact with Blurr over his chest, “you’re pretty roomy down here. Bet I could fit my whole arm in, huh? Bet you would like that, wouldn’t you.” 

Blurr balked, not because of its words but because of his immediate physical reaction to them. The very idea of getting more of that squirming appendage inside him was enough to prompt an extra little gush of lubricants around the human’s digits, calipers twitching hungrily. The organic was, naturally, excited by this. 

“I know you would, baby,” it bobbed its head enthusiastically, inadvertently wriggling its fingers inside him and making him grimace in his attempts to suppress reaction. “C’mon, tell me you want it. Tell Master Disaster what you need.” 

Well, that was stupid. Even if it wasn’t beneath him to beg some little Earth creature to finger him, his vocalizer had been shorted by the controller device it used. Obviously there was going to be no telling anyone what he-

It flared its servos inside him again, hand on his exterior node massaging it with such skill, so roughly that it almost hurt in just that way he liked, and Blurr was nodding his head vigorously enough that his entire frame shook. 

The human crowed with pride, showing the slightest amount of decency by getting straight to it and plunging his thumb in with the rest of his hand, the entire unit sliding in easily with an obscene pop. Blurr had to struggle to keep his calipers from clamping down immediately, afraid he’d squeeze the organic’s hand clean off. It was just so good to be filled again, even in such a light capacity. Unafraid, the human quested deeper, servos flexing, rubbing the swollen nodes inside with careful curiosity. Blurr had never wished more in his entire function that he could move, and move quickly, not to throw the creature away but to pull it closer and urge it onwards because its digits were pushing and prodding the mesh in such gentle little pinprick patterns that he felt like his nerve circuitry was glitching.

Twisting its wrist inside of him, the organic pinched a deep node while simultaneously performing the action on his exterior one, and Blurr bucked, stiffly, a surprised yelp barely making it between his lips before he overloaded. Sensing it coming, the human leapt back, just in time to avoid the slosh of fluids and dangerously powerful contractions, calipers clamping down on nothing. Blurr shook violently, dislodging the hose from its place on his stomach and knocking over the bucket of soap water near his foot. 

“Ah, fuck!” The human jumped from its place between his legs, skipping out of dangers way until the last jolt of pleasure had ebbed from Blurr’s chassis. Panting, Blurr turned to watch the thing, a sated smile forming on his face. The human may be able to humiliate him, time and again, but it still was the one doing all the work. At least he could say he’d gotten some mind-blowing fingering out of the experience. On top of that, each overload used up a portion of impotent energy that would have been driving him out of his head otherwise. Not the strongest definition of a win-win situation he could imagine, but close enough. 

Picking up the hose to wash off its glove, the human smirked. 

“It’s my turn now, darling.”

Well, he could always go for another round. Perking up a bit with interest, Blurr watched it kick the bucket out of the way and approach him. Bringing a leg up wide, it straddled his chest, sitting down with a soft huff right on his windshield. 

“What do you think about this, then, sweetheart?” 

It reached into the front of its coverings and whipped out its little organic spike. Blurr had seen it before, of course, and almost this close too (the visual feed in his interior in alt mode was pretty all encompassing, since he’d taken this earth form), but it had never been being offered to him directly like this. What did he think about it? He thought it was somewhat humorous, all soft and fleshy like that. What did the human expect from him?

He made no attempt to hide his amusement, and it showed. He organic’s smile became more forced. 

“Alright, I’m not an idiot. I’m not saying I’m gonna stick in in your cunny and expect you to feel it.” It inched forward a little, until it could plant its feet on either side of his head from its perch. 

“I can still have a little fun with you.” 

Holding its spike in one hand, it reached the other down to cup Blurr’s face affectionately. It always struck Blurr that no matter how potentially vulgar its words were (he didn’t know what they meant, but they sounded disgusting), it still treated him with care, like a prize hard won. 

Its hand moved down until its thumb circled his mouth carefully. For reasons Blurr wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to admit, he allowed it, even going so far as to part them subtly when prompted. The organic looked so small at this distance, comparable to his root form in ways it wasn’t when he was upright. Little thighs, little arms, little wriggling servos. Judging by his height seated, it probably only stood as tall as his breast when standing. The bizarre similarities between them drew his mind back to what the patriotic fanatics said back in Iacon, that Cybertronians were the universal template all other life was based on. 

It shifted, organic spike bobbing slightly. Still cupping his face, it took a firmer grip on itself, circling the base, fingers threading through the mass of fur there. Its gloves framed the pale flesh, dark brackets that drew his optics back whenever he averted his gaze. The human had a surprisingly intense look on its face, more so than he’d ever seen it. There was its look of desire, its look when preparing or ending a race, its look after gaining or losing its Earth credits, but this was different. Its own lips parted slightly as it slipped its thumb between his, just barely exposing its pink glossa. 

A soft noise burbled up in his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was from discomfort or encouragement, but the human took it as the latter and smiled. It tugged slowly at its spike, lazy, using none of the reverence from before but remaining dignified about it. Blurr was the trophy, after all. It should have made him angry, but instead his spark swelled in his chest, proud and almost embarrassed by the realization. He sincerely hoped the human couldn’t feel it. 

Its boots kicked a few times, clipping his shoulders harmlessly, before locking against the sharp angle of his chest plate. The wet noises its movements produced were foreign to Blurr, not the kind of sounds he expected from a spike, even a flesh one. He watched its outer layer, skin, fold and stretch back against itself as the human moved, down to the little rolls in the slivery glimpse he had of its stomach, the bulging mechanics of its arms, mesmerized.

“Y’think it’ll burn me in here?” it asked, guiding Blurr to open his jaw. Feeling bold, he pressed his glossa up against its hand, tasting the soap and grit on its coverings. Not stilling its grip on its equipment, it brought the other up to its mouth and pinched the rubber between its teeth, pulling it off so his bare hand could return, slip inside, test the waters. It was the hand he’d burned earlier, and Blurr pressed his glossa to it again, apologetically, rolling gently against the salty meat.

It jerked, mumbled something quietly, optics shuttering for a minute, the scooted forward again, half-standing so that it could kneel close. Its free hand skittered all over his cheeks, testing the firmer mesh for pain, but the metal there was designed to conduct less heat to even the friction of an ever moving expression. Blurr quivered, too caught up in the moment to feel anything but excitement. His focus was all on the creature before him, but some small part of his processor was still informing him that his interface protocols had activated again, that he was ready for another round, hot between the thighs as his valve leaked endlessly. 

When it pushed that laughable, soft little spike against his lips, he was almost overwhelmed by how powerfully it aroused him. It was about the size of his smallest finger, and tasted even saltier than the hand had, a rich combination of minerals and liquids that pooled in the tight fabric of its clothing during the day. He pursed his lips around it, hoping he wasn’t using too much pressure, but when he glanced up at the human’s face it looked near serene, optics offline, mouth hanging open in a slow moan. It braced both hands on his helm, careful to keep the hurt one on the softer material of his face, and held itself there for several kliks. 

Eager to continue, Blurr touched his glossa to it experimentally. The human bucked, spitting a curse, and stroked a thumb down his cheek. 

“Yeah, that’s it. C’mon baby, keep going…” and so he did. There was only so much he could manage, struggling to move his head, especially with the human pressed against him like that, but there was little need for it. Carefully adjusting himself so there was less fear over clashing the spike against his dental grill, he sucked on it gently, rubbing the textured top of his glossa against its underside. The human squeezed the sides of his head with its knees, rumbling appreciatively. 

“That's sweet, baby, that’s sweet.” Blurr’s thighs trembled, and he wished he could touch himself. He felt weak, desperate, and it showed as he moved more roughly against the human. It didn’t seem hurt though, petting his helm with the gloved hand, groaning low in its throat. 

Everything was wet, the human seemingly forcing water through its own porous skin. It dripped down onto Blurr’s forehead as it bent lower, little beads forming on its white brow and slicking down its dark hair. The warehouse was dark enough that Blurr’s optics were the strongest form of illumination, shading its face an eerie blue. It looked shockingly handsome this way. His fingers scrabbled at the pavement. 

They found their way to an awkward rhythm, the organic doing its best to move and Blurr doing his best to hold still. Its spike slipped in between his lips easily, oral solvents bubbling up around it as he tried to lubricate it as best he could. He had been worried initially that his fluids would be too acidic for contact with the delicate flesh, but the human showed no signs of discomfort, certainly no pain. Its hips flexed in smooth, strong motions against his mouth. He could feel the strength in its tiny legs, clamped around his head, kicking back against his shoulders. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck, fucking shit.”

It reached up and grabbed his crest, pawing at his cheek affectionately as he pistoned his hips with increasing sloppiness. Its overload was coming fast, he could tell. Urged by its desperation, he worked his tongue harder against it, carefully, gently, genuinely wanting. 

It hissed, jumped, and pulled away suddenly. Blurr choked on his own solvent, head jerking forward to follow it before the realization of what had happened fully hit him. His optics flew between its face and spike, looking for signs of damage, but even as the lance of guilt speared his laser core, he caught its hand moving, another full body shudder, and it came directly on his face. 

Yelping, he shuttered his optics quickly, already stinging with the taste of the small amount that had found its way into his open mouth. The human was breathing more curses and praises under its breath, holding his crest as if to keep him in place, like he was capable of escaping. 

It was over quickly, and he opened his optics when he felt its light weight press back against his chest as it sat down. They were both shaking, the human ventilating rapidly, chest expanding and contracting as it ran a hand though its damp hair. He could feel streaks of its transfluid form paths down his cheeks. Blurr’s valve burned with desire. 

Its torso covering was dark with liquid, and in a brief, exaggerated motion, it lifted the garment up over its head and threw it carelessly down onto the floor. Blurr marveled at the fresh expanse of flesh exposed to him, even paler than the rest, small patches of coarse fur like that around its spike springing up in odd places, beneath its arms and circling a hole in its gut. The entire thing glistened with moisture, rising and falling as it filled itself with air. 

“Gaw damn,” it breathed, “that was hot.” Blurr shifted beneath it, hoping it would recognize his plight. Baring its teeth in another nasty grin, it tucked its little spike back into its clothing and stood unsteadily. 

“Got you revved up again too, din’it?” 

Shaking its head, it turned away, ambling back over the hose and bucket. Blurr looked up over his breast, torn between preemptive rage and worry. A thin, desperate whine squeeze between his lips. It laughed, picking up the hose again and inspecting the end as if it were imperative to making the thing work. 

“Don’t worry,” it said, looking at him through the sides of its optics, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Blurr trembled with anticipation.  


End file.
